As if in Ink
by ShardborneMaiden
Summary: The Labyrinth has stolen Sarah's imagination and happiness, so she settles a bargain with its king: herself in exchange for their return. But Sarah is unsettled by this new, frightening Labyrinth and her growing, tentative love and trust of the man who governs it is to be tested ten-fold by the horrors that are to seep through the Labyrinth's gates.
1. There was Dust

DISCLAIMER: LABYRINTH IS NOT MINE. THERE.

Enjoy the new, improved and actually 'going somewhere' As If In Blood, previously known by the Mills and Boons-like title of: 'Spirit and Power'.

* * *

A soft breeze brushed against the sharp contours of his face, a small mercy from the otherwise blistering heat. He stood with his back to the castle, his eyes fixed on the gate. Something was on the other side of it, something dangerous. He was used to danger and the constant barrage of threats that attempted to seep through the Labyrinth's gate, but this was different. This had been orchestrated to be undetectable to any magic, even his. He frowned, took several steps towards the gate and stalled as if startled, sending up clouds of desert dust.

'I admire your ability to cloak yourself from me. That is no small feat' he addressed the presence.

The Thing's silence stretched on.

The king, undeterred, as he imagined he had much patience, opened his palm to reveal a small crystal orb.

Glitter fell from the sky, coating each branch in an iridescent snow so beautiful, the man almost considered it. The glitter would fall only on that which was part of the king's realm, leaving anything alien exposed. The spell was without a flaw, he used it often to find runners who sought to hide out their thirteen hours in the Labyrinth's derelict outskirts. But this time, the snow was still, undisturbed. For a moment, the king looked unnerved, for no creature lay in wait, nor monstrous army, no, the only thing Not Labyrinth was a string, a strand, wrapped around a branch. An innocent thread. Black against the blinding white.

Years ago, the king would have been angered that he thought The Thing a threat, maybe even disgusted, but now there was no room in his world for such self-pity. He flayed himself before no one, not even himself.

His brow rose as he approached it, curious as to what it could have come from. Nobody had crossed the Labyrinth's borders in centuries and there had not been a human runner since the Labyrinth had been championed. But then his expression changed, first to one of wonder, then a look of utter malice.

'Hello' he said, cocking his head.

He plucked the stand from the branch and held it up to the brilliant sun, his smile small, nostalgic. It was a hair, a long, straight strand of hair.

'Now this' he said, admiring the black length of it. 'Is not mine'

The whistle of the breeze intensified, The Labyrinth, all high walls and indomitable depths, had begun to panic, sensing the change in its master's mood.

'I thought you were gone' he whispered, his voice a caress as he lay the hair upon his palm. 'Burnt out...'

He turned back to the expanse of his living maze, as if condemning it.

'You destroyed every trace of her' he stated.

The silence stretched on until, somewhere, in the midst of the goblin city, bells rang.

As though reanimated by the sound, the king laughed softly, rolled his hand and paced away from the tree.

'You stole the scent of her skin from the Helping Hands, smoothed over her landing in my junkyard…you were so vigilant. So very thorough. But _this_, this escaped your attention?' he asked, almost manically.

He held up the strand, the breeze around it stilled and it dropped, buffeting the hair against the fingers that held it captive. The Labyrinth had taken a great breath.

As if suddenly remembering himself, he shook his head and summoned a crystal upon his palm, letting it absorb the hair.

Perhaps his face had not twisted in a while, for it took some time for him to smirk.

'…I wonder' he muttered. 'If she still fears the dark?'


	2. Fire Truck Red

I threw myself into the hallway, slamming the door on the harsh wind that seemed desperate to flood in. The house was silent, bar the tick of the grandfather clock and I knew instinctively that it was empty.

'Karen?' I shouted breathlessly. 'Anyone at all?'

Nobody. It was to be expected, of course, it was winter, there always seemed to be something on, Christmas has that effect on stuffy event organisers. I'd find a note explaining away their absence and a pizza on the tray.

I tossed my jacket across the staircase and took the stairs two at a time, heading for my bedroom, specifically a table I had dubbed the 'This is Why We are Not Here' table.

Of course there was a note. Clarice had invited them for dinner and they knew I had studying to do and I should get some sleep. And just like that, I was alone.

I lay my textbooks across the famed table, opened a few to relevant-looking pages, sprawled out nonsense notes on them and lay out erasers and pencils. I even went as far as to fetch an old, crumpled essay from the waste bin and flatten it against one of the book spines. It was only for show of course, I wouldn't be studying tonight, not whilst the house was empty. I surveyed my work proudly. Later, my father would walk in to a beautiful scene of me tucked up in bed, the lights still on and a copy of Human Biology on my chest. His dedicated, hard-working, college-bound daughter. Panto-panto-pantomime. I still had it.

I tugged at my sheets, as always impressed by how tightly Karen had managed to tuck them and slipped beneath them. I wondered, vaguely, whether I should do something…nice, perhaps sketch a little, or practice winged eyeliner, something a little lovely, a little not-mundane. I hadn't read a book for pleasure in years, so that was out of the question, but I thirsted to poke my tongue out my mouth as I drew, or slam my kohl down...

My gaze drifted suddenly to the window, the curtains were closed of course, as they always were. I was always compelled to check.

I reached under the blankets to tug at my jeans, pulling them down and flinging them onto the floor. I ran my fingers down my legs in a vain attempt to bleed out the dull pain in them and winced as they passed over again and again, quicker to generate a little heat.

Lightning flashed from behind the curtains, the storm was only getting worse.

I could hear wind in the house, one of the windows was open. Fear utterly enveloped me. It was tempting to leave the house, go down the road to the mall for a few hours, calm myself down. I knew I couldn't, just as I knew which window was open.

The corridor creaked as I made my way along it, trailing my fingers across the walls as Karen so hated. I glanced briefly into Toby's room, relieved to see his curtains were closed. His room, re-painted to accommodate his sudden fondness of fire truck red, was far too neat to be a toddler's.

I tugged the window closed and glanced out into the near-blackness. From what I could see, the rain wasn't too bad, Karen and my father would have no trouble driving home.

I pressed my head against the window, relishing the cold glass. I knew the reason I hadn't been invited, of course. I felt so out of place with the world about me and they, my father and Karen, had picked up on that with the perceptiveness of parents. I was never exactly 'in place', they knew that, but now I might as well be superimposed into the world, for all the effort I put into living in it.

He hadn't made a sound, not a word and yet, I could sense him, smell his scent, heavy and cloying on the air. The scent of leather, of magic, of spice, vanilla and something so crisp and sweet it was wordless.

'Hello, goblin king' I muttered. I attempted to sound nonchalant, but the trembling in my voice could not be mistaken.

His first step was heavy, close to the door and my resulting gasp seemed to delight him, for he didn't move again for several, long seconds.

I stared into out into the yard as his leather-encased hands found me, tracing my spine, slowly, thoroughly. He uttered my name in various tones of disapproval as his fingers sought out the gaps between my ribs, resting there, tapping as though testing for hollowness. My breath caught in my throat, my stomach began to ache.

I tried to thrust myself away but found my upper arms stilled by his hands, chilled from his flight in the late-winter air.

'Goblin King. What have you taken?' I murmured, still refusing to look at him.

'And here I was, thinking I stole only from the innocent' he said, his voice seemed to crack in my brain, taking on an air of musing unbefitting to his threatening demure.

'I don't know what it is. But you have taken it...' I told him.

'I shall humour you, Sarah, as I have many times before...'

'Where was your flashy entrance?' I asked, my smile creeping into my voice.

'…and ask…' he paused, as though my interruption had thrown him. 'And ask you exactly what you think is missing?'

I imagined that smile, curling at the ends. I knew he was enjoying this, he must have known I had no choice but to let him.

'Tell me, Sarah. What got you through my labyrinth?'

'My brother' I said immediately, my eyes resting on his toy box. Of course it was Toby, the fear of losing a part of my family, a part of me, to my own foolishness was a worse fate than death. Returning to a house empty of joy, to a woman with a son lost to a fantastical being she wouldn't even believe in, to spending the rest of my life trying to get that child back, an endless labyrinth.

I turned to face him. He seemed satisfied by my gaze. He was dressed simply, white shirt, black… tights, no attempt at intimidation, though his frightening appearance had never once overrode those awful, beautiful eyes in the fear stakes. They regarded me coldly as I fingered at my oversized shirt, wishing it were larger.

'Initially, yes' he ground out, hooking the leg of my old rocking chair with one foot and pulling it beneath him. The only thing in proximity that vaguely resembled a throne. 'But did you think of the babe whilst trumping me, whilst enlisting the help of my subjects...?'

No, I thought to myself. I thought of selfish gain, adventure, romance...and eventually my love of the little boy who would soon grow to be the most important thing in my life. My mistake had always been simple, I had assumed the Labyrinth was a mere lesson for me, to prove how much I loved Toby, to prove the person I was. It wasn't. Nothing in life is personalised. Least of all sentient mazes overseen by poufy-haired goblin monarchs.

'Always. You shouldn't let your guard down around anyone, they tend to run circles around you, to defeat you as I'm sure you know' I replied.

If this had wounded him in any way, it didn't show, he merely cocked an eyebrow at my words. I grinned at him brazenly, suddenly fearless, not caring if he destroyed me on the spot, but somehow knowing he wouldn't. It was sickeningly intoxicating seeing him this close up, dizzying, even. It wasn't a romantic thing, more a satisfaction, as though a piece of my life had been returned to me ten-fold.

'Toby is my brother, I love him more than life itself. My family…'

'Where are they?' he quipped.

'…Out. I was out late at the library, I…'

'…Out' he muttered. 'Out. If they are beloved, more so than your own life, Sarah dear. Why would they leave you alone?'

'I'm eighteen years of age, I…'

'You should not be left alone with such... paralysing fear'

'It's none of your business' I snapped.

'Oh, but it is'. He sat up, as though suddenly intrigued. 'You are very much my business. I invest in you as a character invests in his creator. You built your entire life on my world, Sarah, and what I could do for you, it's difficult not to invest in_ that_. The other novels, the other plays and fantasies were mere decoration, something to don when confronted by those confused by your dedication to one breed of fantasy'

'You're just that, fantasy'

'You imagined me very differently, when you read it, didn't you? You imagined a man who was so perfect, so charming, so utterly and inherently good, he could only exist in a book? I realised this, I wanted this as you did, you understand. I wanted you, Sarah, more than you could have ever have wanted that empty vessel of a man and yet, I performed to your desires in a way you most likely deemed not to your commission, incorrect...hardly passable. So, you see'

I looked away from him, from these frightening words. I hadn't asked for them.

'I tailored my world to your dreams and failed for my own desires and dreams for you seeped into my creation. You despise me for it. For I am not your fairy tale prince, nor the man you imagined me to be. In my educated opinion, your determination...your imagination got you through my labyrinth. You may have noticed, very recently, something like colour has been missing from your life and your imagination...gone, hmm? It wasn't me who took it, though I wish I had thought of it myself, but my labyrinth. She wanted it. And in the way of grand things, she simply snatched what she thought she was owed'

I could have spat at him. He grinned at me, clearly relishing my anger.

'Owed...I owe that oversized Slug Salt maze nothing' I hissed. He only tossed his head back and laughed.

'Describe the Goblin King you loved, Sarah. The goblin king you imagined' he said after a long moment. 'And in great detail'

'That is not what we are talking about!'

'Sarah...I suggest you tell me' he muttered.

I wondered why it was playing out like this, why I could only answer him, why my retorts crumbled beneath him.

'He was more a prince than a king, the kinghood a mere play on 'the position of power' fantasy' I said weakly. 'That's it. I barely remember how I imagined you. I barely care'

The mismatched-eyed creature before me grinned wider, amusement rendering the sharp plains of his face almost pleasant. I wondered what he would have been like when he was younger, whether his coldness was adopted, not inherent.

'More?' I asked sarcastically. He nodded, closing his eyes.

'His hair was blonde, dark enough to be mysteriously masculine but light enough to hint at his playful side'. I flailed like a damsal, throwing my palm to my face melodramatically, my voice sing song. 'His body was muscled, lightly so, and his heart was good and true. He took me. Not my brother. We lived together for thousands of years and he granted me a life without compare.'

He swayed his hand as though conducting an orchestra.

For a moment we stood there in silence, bathed in the fading light, the clock's tick the only proof he had not opted to slaughter me on the spot.

'Go on' he said and I heard the century old chair creak beneath him. He wanted more words from me, more of my stupid, juvenile fantasy.

'Gentle. Good. True. Easy laugh. Happy. In love. Tender' I spat out breathlessly.

He chuckled darkly and tapped a single canine tooth with his index finger; a brief click of nail on bone muted by leather glove. A shiver drenched my spine and I turned from him. I couldn't deny to myself that I desired him. It felt sinful, though, not at all like the soft adoration I felt for boy bands and pretty, floppy-haired surfers, much heavier, much darker. I had never wanted to tie silk scarves around their wrists, for instance.

'Had enough of my stupid, teen fantasies, yet?' I asked dully.

'You fail to understand me time and time again, Sarah. You have had little more than a decade of life, and what you've done with it, the breadth of your imagination and spirit, is mesmerising to me' he said.

'Or' he amended, cocking his head, 'was mesmerising, though I can return your imagination and your spirit to you. And then we can both bask in the glow of it, hmm?'

'You hate me, don't you?' I whispered.

'Passionately' he replied, running his fingers along the chipped wood of the chair and frowning, clearly finding it not to his standards.

'So much that you'd reduce me to this shell, huh?'

'You don't hate me, do you?' he asked, quirking an eyebrow. 'After our charming _time_ together, I would have thought your perceptiveness would have granted you an informed profile of me and yet, I don't feel that glorious, hot, very human concoction radiating off you'

'I've grown up' I shrugged.

'Grown up? I have entertained thousands of runners in my lifetime, thousands of spoilt little brats running through my labyrinth, eyes like saucers. You were the first to make it past the Bog of Stench...the first to live, the first to grow up. Not because you were more resourceful, more capable at recruiting my subjects or more worthy, though I assure you, you are to me, than any other runner, but because of my affection for you and my pity for your plight. You must understand, Sarah, that although your recruiting skills worked fantastically on my subjects and your problem-solving was admirable, albeit, assumed, if it were not for said affection and pity, you would have rotted away in the catacombs of my Labyrinth two years ago. No extra inches on that pretty hair'

When I didn't answer, he continued, his eyes fixed on the reaction I would not give him.

'Every runner reaches a point in their journey where they are exhausted, near giving up, mentally preparing for the worst even if their feet keep running' he continued. 'You were an exception, but only a slight one. You will recall the oubliette you were dropped into. A place for forgetting. There are thousands of them, perhaps tens of thousands, their content has made me reluctant to count, harboured beneath my labyrinth and you landed, by _my_ mercy, into one of the very few empty ones. Sarah, you were lucky that I sent Hoggle to find you. Believe me when I say, precious, not every oubliette possesses a broom cupboard or can have light shed within it'

So, this was his ploy now, blatant fear mongering.

'You don't need to embellish tales of your wickedness, goblin king. I can imagine, spare the prose'

'Do not, Sarah, play me for a fool' he said,

'Oh, how could I, when you played the romantic so very well?'

You think me evil, don't you? I am evil human standards, yes. But can I be judged that way, truly?'

I didn't answer.

'Don't you want to though how I came into possession of your...boundless imagination?' he asked casually.

I picked up a piece of Toby's lego, turned it over upon my palm. It was the piece we'd used to create the chimney on Toby's hospital. 'I'm more interested in how you intend to give it back'.

'You left it dangling out of your shirt tails; it was always readily available for me to pluck from you at my leisure' he purred, his approach slow and very, very languid.

'You're not listening. I don't care how...' I began. He plucked the lego piece from my hand and balanced it upon one, long finger, leaving me speechless.

'It was even more available for The Labyrinth to take, she had the pleasure of your company throughout your...adventure. The difference is, whilst you were in my labyrinth, I had no such desire to steal it from you, even though you flaunted it so very carelessly. When you left, however, it went from being a facet of you I daren't touch to the ultimate bargaining tool and, when I discovered she had taken it, I was more than eager for her to turn it over to me. It's not just any ordinary, trivial bargaining tool, Sarah, but my favourite breed, one _you_, my beloved, cannot afford to lose'

He dropped the piece into his palm and crushed it there, sprinkling the plastic shards on Toby's train-adorned floor.

'That was part of the animal hospital' I practically growled.

'In that case, I pronounce it dead' he said, narrowing his eyes at the wreckage.

'Goblin king...'

'Don't call me that' he said. 'I suffer that title enough. I shouldn't suffer it from you'

'What would you have me call you?'

'My name' he said. Something flashed in his eyes, something like sadness. It burnt out as soon as it came.

'Jar-eth' I muttered, testing the syllables, the image of the slipping of his mask burning into my memory. Funny how I had never attached the name to him before. Always him, always his, always he, never Jareth, never Jareth's.

'That would be the one' he responded drily. 'Don't think I was careless with it, Sarah. Everything was calculated. You were always safe. She had taken it, yes, but she had no choice but to turn it over to her king. Her king would not abuse it.'

'That makes everything okay, then, right? The experiment in how miserable you could make me was a controlled one'

He wiggled his nose and I gaped, resisting the urge to return it. How could _his _nose _wriggle_?

'...Please, just give it back. I have a life I need to...'

'Not even if I tried. The labyrinth adheres to its own moral code. Even if I wanted to hand it to you, like the noble king I sure I am, deep, deep down, she would never allow it' he drawled.

'To be honest, you don't look like you've tried'

Outside, the rain softened and fell in a soft drone, patting against my window and for a moment I gazed up at him, surprised by how dark it had become since the lilac sky of his arrival and impressed that I no longer had to gaze too far to meet his eyes, that those two years had given me the necessary inches to feel less intimidated. But as far as feeling sexually and emotionally intimidated? I felt like a shipwreck. His grin was slow, agonising, I suspected he was surprised I had had the gall to face him. The last time he had stood in this room, I had cowered before him. He was frightening.

'I want you to make me an offer. If my labyrinth taught you anything, Sarah, which, I pray, it has, you'll know that there is...how is it said? No such thing as a free lunch. If you want your imagination back, you will have to grant me something in return that is of equal or greater value'

My heart dropped.

'What do I have that you could possibly want?' I laughed, gesturing around my Toby's messy room extravagantly, panic in my voice. I knew exactly what he wanted. Fairy Kings do not deal in trading cards and charm bracelets. He only grinned, sharp teeth glinting in the soft glow of my bedroom lighting.

'Would you have me put it simply, or shall I spin you a tale?' he asked.

He tucked an errant hair behind my ear, careful not to touch my skin.

'Simplicity' I muttered, turning my head away from the caress.

'If I tuck your imagination back into your shirttails, I want a grip on those tails in return'

'Come again?' I whispered.

'I'm assuming that was a request for me to repeat myself? How about me phrasing it in an old, familiar way, hmm? Just let me rule you and you can have everything you want'

I closed my eyes, relishing his silence as lightening lit up the room. It was as it was when we first met, when all this began, a lightning storm, a girl with a dream and a man with all the dreams in the world at his disposal. It was even in the same room, except this time, there was no Toby. And no chance of a happy ever after.

'Do you know how happy I was?' I said, my voice thick with unshed tears. ' We were going to go to Europe next fall, dad was going to buy a camera, I was going to try real Parisian ice cream, Karen and I were going to go on a girly shopping trip...Oxford Street. I was going to be a journalist, an artist, a dolphin trainer, an explorer. Funny how little you can achieve without an imagination'

'I made you an offer, Sarah...' he began, raising his palms as though to ward of my misery.

'I'll make you one' I hissed. 'You keep them safe, you make sure nothing hurts them and you...you...protect them. I know you've got the power to do so. You make them forget me. Do you understand? Richard Williams met a beautiful, flighty woman, destined to be an actress, who did not want children. He left her and met a homely, wonderful woman named Karen, who would give him the son he dreamed of. No moody Sarah, no kind Sarah, no doting sister Sarah. If you take me, you take me completely'


	3. Different and Humbling

I was expecting a reaction from him, perhaps a flash of anger. He only regarded me coolly. Upon his palm he conjured one of his infamous crystals and ran it across his fingers, his mouth pulled into a smile that would be delicious if it were not so evil.

'Do you understand the implications of such a deal, Sarah?' he mused, tossing the orb into the air and catching it again.

I looked away from him, my eyes trailing along Toby's walls, along picture after picture of family, friends, places. A particularly treasured photo of Toby at his first school play, dressed as a paper Marché tree, his mouth, or 'chops' as I fondly called it, covered in chocolate. A fridge magnet- 'Friar's Falls', a sliver of confetti collected from my first prom, taped above a concert ticket, given to Toby as he demanded. All gone, and I had never taken a moment to appreciate any of it. Tears fell freely from my eyes and I grit my teeth. I knew the implications, but to feel joy, to not have to act my way through every second of my life, to not want to cry every time I saw someone laugh and, above all, the assurance Toby would grow up happy and safe, under the kind of protection only a goblin king could provide.

'You can never return here, Sarah, everything you've touched, everywhere you have been, every scenario you have influenced, everyone who has loved you, loathed you, even seen you briefly, will no longer carry your trace. You shall belong nowhere, kept only in existence by my mercy and easily removed by my whim' he said, but his voice was background music. I barely noticed his words.

I wondered if he was enjoying this, how much this satisfied his lust for revenge, whether it would only begin to cover it. We watched each other silently, my frenzied breath the only sound between us. He hadn't aged a day, not a second since I last saw him. It would perhaps be romantic or tragic to claim he looked tortured or somehow affected, as though my absence had taken some sort of toll on him, but the lines of his face were the same, drawn by some past trauma, unaffected.

It felt irrelevant now. All of it. Life, love, happiness. What was it when I would never see Toby grow up, never secretly disapprove of his friends, never challenge his girlfriends or sit from a corner, watching him receive the 'Birds and the Bees' talk? The entire world seemed to crumble beneath me. I had cried when I had been dismissed from high school for 'whimsicality and an inability to focus, I had spent nights upon nights, wailing at the loss of my beloved Underground and its inhabitants and I had even required the use of a box of tissues over my father's announcement that I was 'eighteen now, and shouldn't have so many stuffed toys' and the subsequent bags he filled with them for the tip. But this was a different breed of despair, an aching kind.

Every time I had cried over these meaningless, trivial things, Toby had climbed onto my lap, placed a sticky hand on my cheek and begged for a story so wonderful, so poignant that I couldn't help but cease my misery to entertain him. Where was that now?

'Sarah' he interrupted my thoughts, his voice surprisingly strained. 'Yield to my curiosity. Confess your sin'

'...my sin?' I choked out.

'What are you most guilty of? What did you do to me, this, fine, prince Charming, what did you do to the labyrinth you ran?' he cooed.

I blinked away tears and stared at my fingers, aware of his approach only from rattle of the floorboards. And then his breath against my ear.

'The Labyrinth welcomes back its conqueror'.

I went to move away but his hands gripped at my shoulder blades, stilling me and holding me at arm's length, his grip gentle but firm. I stared at my feet, finding myself enjoying the contact far too much, when was the last time someone had held me, even at this painful distance?

I leant my head into his chest, relishing the feel of leathers and silk against my wet lashes. His breath caught and I looked up at him sharply, pulling away, suddenly frightened to see rejection in his eyes. They met mine unblinkingly. There was no mocking, slyness or anger in them...only understanding. The great, powerful, frightening king of the Goblin folk looked down at me with nothing in his eyes but complete and utter sympathy. I stepped back swiftly, feeling my cheeks redden.

'Is it stupid that I want a closure of sorts; even if it's only my heart I'm closing...I want to leave a trace of myself...something Toby can remember? I know I can't, don't lecture me…'

'Perhaps the child will, Sarah, remember you' he said. 'Contrary to popular belief, the world is not a linear place, it adheres to only a basic timeline, and the rest is mental interpretation. Reality, at least your reality, is an absolute illusion. It may be a romantic notion to believe that, even though to him you do not exist, he will one day sketch your likeness in the sand on a beach holiday, or dream about a kindly, dark-haired lady, living on a Marzipan cloud or even see a dress you would have loved and feel a pang of something bitter yet sweet that he cannot place, but it is a possible notion'

'Possible is good...' I responded.

He reached over, as though to wipe away my tears, but stopped inches from my face, his fingers poised to touch.

'Are you frightened, Sarah?' he asked

'Not of you, no'

He sighed deeply and his fingers stroked the tears from my cheek, circling under my chin and tilting it up to meet his gaze.

'As long as you should stay by my side, no such thing as pain or sorrow shall touch you' he soothed, his mismatched eyes half-lidded.

'No such thing...' I repeated slowly.

'No such'

'What, then, shall touch me?' I asked.

'Whatever I deem should. But know this, it shall not harm the person you are or the shell you occupy, Sarah. It shall be pure, distilled, calculated. What you feel, what you see, shall be a product of my own wishes for you, and they are anything but dark'

'But you are darkness...the book says..."No one could remember a time without The Goblin King. Forever he had sat on his gilded throne, surveying the creatures that made mischief at his feet and forever he would stay, darkness personified."' I declared.

His eyes widened a fraction and he stilled, his jaw clenched. If ever he had doubted my dedication to his fantasy, his reunion with me had proved him utterly wrong.

For a moment, I thought he would shout, but his jaw unclenched and he laughed lightly.

'You see the world very much in black and white, Sarah' he said, his smile sad. 'It is your appeal as a heroine and compliment to your nature. You understand evil; you condemn evil because you are so, innocently, beautifully and inherently good. You do not, however, understand that with my evil comes my power, my power to spin dreams, weave illusion, and to possess dominion over the Labyrinth, a structure once considered too wild and too unpredictable to control'

'I have the power to stop time' he continued, 'to reverse it, distort it...give it or take it away. If I had wanted to, Sarah, if my evil was as fine-tuned and practiced as that _book_ claims, I would have frozen time, all those years ago when you stood before me, poised to remove my power over you, and kept you still, a statue for all of eternity, your lips parted to declare my undoing. But I didn't...I let you go home. I was always to return for you, but I gave you freedom, even if it was only temporary'

''You...consider me naive, don't you?' I spat out. 'You think that I cannot decide whom to trust. Your labyrinth sought to teach me that the world was a harsh place, but there were those who I could love, those I could trust to help me through it, but ultimately it was my labyrinth, my life, my challenge to complete. I trust you, I always have, I trust you of my own accord. Even when you held my little brother away from me and dropped me into your elaborate puzzle, I trusted you to do him no harm and to protect me' I shouted.

'What made you trust?' he said after a long moment.

'The book, actually' I said breathlessly, clenching my fists. 'Three lines of it, really...in comparison to the rest of the story, it's quite an insignificant paragraph. It's a part you'd miss if you were to hurry to get to the good bits'

'You based your trust of an omnipotent, glittery, baby-snatching villain on the book he planted to lure you under his power?' he said dryly.

He looked restless standing there, as though he wished to pace, but thought it would've been too rude. I wondered if it would strike him as strange if I was to give him permission to do so.

'Gosh' I said. 'I can't believe I still remember it- 'It had taken him years to perfect and nurture his Labyrinth. She was always perfect in his eyes, always perfectly tailored to his needs, but he wanted to create both the ultimate, strategic trap and a beautiful home for its citizens, to satisfy himself and those who chose to live under him. The creatures of the Labyrinth rejoiced under the reign of their sovereign, for while he may be cruel, his judgement was fair and his heart, whilst dark, was hollow to be filled'

'Hollow to be filled...' he murmured.

'Yes...you know... that thing really was wordy. I couldn't read it until I was fifteen, simply because 'strategic' wasn't in the Read With Me Under Ten guidebook...' I said laughingly.

It was only then that I realised he had returned to the rocking chair and was sitting, his eyes fixed on the window. For a while he sat in silence, rocking slightly and watching the trees sway in the night wind, his legs propped up on the windowsill.

'Do you know how many nights I spent out there, not out by your window, of course, I had no right to see into you, but on that branch...watching you close your curtains, flying away when you forgot?' he said, his voice strained.

'A few, I'd imagine. I saw you out there a several times; I introduced you to Toby as my Guardian Barn Owl' I said, smiling at the memory of assuring Toby the bird wouldn't hurt him and then spending hours, trawling through father's wildlife books to draw the bird that had so swiftly flown away.

I saw the owl frequently, most often at the corner of my eye, often waved to it as I crossed the road to my house and had even planned to bring it cooked chicken, the night it had turned into a Goblin King.

'Guardian, indeed...Barn Owl, how about Magical Fae King?' he responded.

'Tried it. Wasn't overly impressed' I said lightly.

He smiled weakly and roved his hands along the wood of the chair.

'I found you by accident, you know' he said softly. 'You were playing outside, a few months before I took Toby, dancing in a fraying, lilac dress, your hair a mass of twigs and leaves and your knees muddied. I was captivated by you, by your imagination, your smile...how you dictated so vibrantly a story of witches scorned, knights brave and maidens won. You lit up when you spoke of things you loved. You were only in your late childhood, yet you spoke with the eagerness of a woman of many years, yearning to have someone to share with, someone who would listen. I tried to be content with merely watching you, Sarah. It didn't take me long to realise I never would'

'Goblin King...' I began.

'Jareth' he said simply, meeting my nervous gaze.

'This whole thing, The Labyrinth, you, Toby...I never really had a choice, did I?'

He looked away, his smile sad. 'In any other circumstance, if the paths of you and I had crossed differently, choice would be much, much more influential. You should sit down, Sarah, you shake still'

I sat down on Toby's toddler bed, threading my fingers through the holes in the throw over, watching him watch me.

'Tell me something' I said, impulsively, suddenly hungering for his words. He was the only concrete thing in my world at that very moment. I wanted to know all of him. His dreams, his heart, the breadth of his cunning, the cracks in his reservation…I wanted to know if I could destroy him with as much ease as he could me.

'What is it that you would like to know?' he asked, smiling indulgently, a mocking glint in his eyes.

'How you became king...tell me that' I said.

'You know the tale as much as I do, Sarah, perhaps more, you have cause to love it better' he muttered, running his fingers along his leg, as though expelling invisible dust.

'I only know the 'forever he had sat' part. It was one of my favourite passages. I read it over and over again until I had it memorised. It was my first introduction to the concept of 'forever'. It used to frighten me so much, more than the Fierys or the tunnel of hands, or even the final confrontation, when everything was uncertain, everything the product of the right or wrong words. They were frightening, yes, but nowhere near as much as the concept of eternity...I remember asking my father to explain it to me, the word 'forever', he told me it was a stupid word...'

He stood up, so swiftly it was as though he had transported and I jumped back in surprise, knocking over the quilted lamp and landing headfirst amongst soft toys and blankets. I risked a glance at him, suddenly frightened of his reaction, but his eyes betrayed nothing as the lamp smashed to the floor, distinguishing the only light in the room. In the blackness, he rose a hand, twisted it and conjured a crystal on his palm, bringing a lilac light to his chest and lending my belongings long, sinister shadows. I let out a gasped breath I hadn't known I had been holding.

'I wonder if Prince Charming ever frightened his delicate, milk and honey love so?' he mused, placing the orb on the table with a gentle clunk, spotlighting us both in gentle illumination.

'He might well have done' I replied breathlessly, watching the swirl and storm of violet cloud within the orb. 'I don't trust fairy tales anymore'

'You're bleeding' he said simply, gesturing to my wrist with an incline of his head.

I stared down at it in dazed wonder, suddenly associating the sharp pain in my wrist with the trickle of blood trailing from my fingers. I watched, morbidly fascinated as it dripped down to splatter Toby's teddy bear bed sheets, making the jovial bears and their picnic baskets look positively horrifying.

'May I?' he asked, raising one gloved finger.

'Erm, sure, I…'

He approached swiftly, kneeling down beside the bed to take my hand in his before I could blink. Startled, I watched his face, the concentration that seemed to bloom there as he grasped my shaking hand, holding it as though it were a frightened creature he daren't scare away.

His eyes flickered over the wound, assessing it, and my heart jumped, partly from shock and partly from elation. I wanted to feel his skin, I wanted to ask him to take his gloves off.

He wasn't my prince charming, not my dastardly villain, not even the trickster who reformed his ways after my gentle touch. He was not a character, he was a man, a man with fears and dreams and words and worlds. I wish I'd known that all along. Numbly, I registered him turn my wrist over and hover his fingers over the wound, running a crimson path through the blood and trailing it further down my wrist to my forearm, as though he was fingerpainting. Shivers flooded up my body at the contact, the slow twirl of smooth leather on the sensitive skin of my wrist. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the shapes he made, boxes, swirls, triangles, simple things, but the touch on my skin was maddening.

I watched, fascinated as the wound knitted up under his fingertips, the skin restored to new. The soft glow of the magic left me feeling warm, dizzy even and I wiggled my fingers in pleasure at the new sensation, hardly noticing when he returned my hand to my lap with a gentle caress.

'It tickles' I remarked.

'That surprises me not. Normally, healing magic is a swift thing, done in the heat of battle and often more painful than the wound itself. I wove in a great deal of pleasure magic to counteract the natural pain' he said, standing back up, straightening his back and returning to the window.

'There's blood, on your shirt'

He looked down at himself, rolled his eyes up to me and smirked.

I was so struck by the image, I almost gasped. Standing before me, arms outstretched as he surveyed the gore on his shirt, was the man I had drawn a hundred times before. I never drew him dancing, or lounging or laughing, always haunted, always bloody, always victorious. It almost hurt to see it in the flesh. But I felt no guilt for thinking of him like that, no feeling of betrayal, though that was soon to come.

He conjured a crystal and rolled it across his palms, eating up my expression as I followed it with my eyes. He was going to have to teach me how to do that.

'You can clean up blood with that thing?' I asked.

'I assume so. But this...this is your imagination, Sarah, your dreams, your spirit...'

'I really don't want Toby coming home to...this' I lifted up the sheets and grimaced.

'I think it would be character building...'

'Please' I muttered.

He nodded and threw out an arm. The sheets were jovial once more. I ran my fingers across them, dusting off the small piles of glitter that had formed there.

'So that's my imagination?' I said, warily.

'Did you think I would not act on my promise?' he said, a hint of bitterness in his otherwise purring voice.

I closed my eyes, braced myself and reached for the orb.

'Wait. Sarah, take my hand' he said softly, pulling it back. 'It will ease the sensation of displacement. Travelling between realms is not disorientating, per say, but the Labyrinth is unaccustomed to admitting you without her prior approval, there may be initial resistance and, like a wounded, confused creature, her resistance may be quite frightening'

I held out my hand and he hovered his fingers above it for a second before clasping it. I watched as he brought the crystal to my eye level.

'See, my love. No ballroom'

In awkward movements, as though it had been suspended on string, the crystal dropped to the floor, dissolving into tens of rainbow-flecked bubbles that flitted and danced between us. They kissed at my cheek, fastened around my waist and curled around my ear as I stared, mesmerised at my flustered appearance within them, reaching to touch them and startling when they darted away.

'Have I already said, Sarah, that the Labyrinth welcomes back its conqueror?' I heard him whisper as one, particularly daring bubble rested at the hollow of my throat.

I turned to him, laughing at the tickling sensation and batting it away.

'You may have done' I replied, wiggling my nose in delight as yet another bubble laid claim to it.

The king of the goblins watched me, his eyes half-lidded and his smile achingly, beautifully genuine.

'As does her king'.


	4. Ink

_**Six Months Earlier**_

The studio was warm, almost tropical in its mugginess and the pictures on the walls, depicting dragons and mermaids and fairies and tribal designs were beautiful, but alien. I had no idea what I was doing here. Though I had nothing but admiration for tattoos, I had never myself desired one.

'You're the three o'clock, right. Miss Williams?' A voice roused me from my thoughts and I turned to it.

And yet here I was.

The man looked to be in his early twenties. It was easy to see his love of tattoos, every visible inch of him was painted, except a blank 'T' upon his face. His clothes were black and looked so heavy that I fancied he had trouble walking.

'Hi' I croaked.

He surveyed me for a long moment. His smile was the slow smile of a man considering flirtation. 'You were the girl with the quote, right?'

'Yeah…' I replied. 'I am. Surely you're not the only artist?'

He shrugged. 'You've got me. But then... it's a Monday, there's only me available. It's a small parlour, Anchors, there's only three of us. Would you like to…come through?'

He gestured down the stairs before taking them two at a time, landing in a small lounge, all red leather and oriental décor that I hadn't noticed upon entering.

'Yeah, it seems it' I said, narrowly avoiding an overhanging dream catcher. 'It took me a while to find it…'

'Yeah, we don't really advertise it well. Sometimes in a couple of indie mags…but there's always bigger parlours to check out, little backstreet joint like this…eh, they're seen as dodgy'

'I liked it'

He grinned and pulled out a metal table from a small alcove covered in photos of pin-up girls and, oddly, shark attacks.

'Doe, one of the girls here, was bitten by a whopper last summer in Australia, she likes to show if off' he said, noticing my interest. 'So this quote…any meaning' he asked.

'There's a little, yes'

'Are you inked already?'

'No…'

'Virgin skin' he remarked, brushing his fingers down his sparse moustache.

'Is that a problem?' I laughed.

'No' he said. 'I quite like it. Y'know, the whole idea of being the first to paint on a canvas... Can I take that?' he asked, indicating to the scrunched up piece of paper in my hand.

I looked down at my shaking fist, as though suddenly associating the piece of paper with my reason for being here.

'Err, sure' I said quickly, thrusting it at him.

He took the reference from me and squinted at it, taking in the words for several long moments.

I nearly gulped.

He looked up at me slowly, as though seeing me in an entirely new light. 'Who the hell's pissed you off?'

* * *

Don't worry, this will be the last 'short' chapter.

Thank you ever so much for reading, and if this is your cup of green tea, please do review!

I'm not withholding chapters for reviews, but I'm aiming for one per chapter...pretty please with a cherry on top? :S

Otherwise I feel like Tom Hanks in Cast Away, yelling my headcanons at Wilson.


	5. On Moths

Disclaimer: Labyrinth isn't mine. Yepyepyep.

* * *

I knew I was dreaming. I knew in a way that was strange, even to me, that I was safe, that I would wake up.

The dreams stacked upon each other. I was adrift in a sea of dead swans, trailing my fingers over their dry feathers, collecting their empty carcasses, scooping them against my bare breasts and breathing in their dead smell. I was back in my room, helplessly watching as my legs extended before me, as I grew and grew and kicked over my vanity and threw a fist through my thin walls. The dream changed only when I was screaming, only when my head hit the ceiling and I imagined my neck snapping. In another, less vivid dream, I was not a person, but a shell and my flesh was periwinkle blue...I spoke in every dream in a voice that was not my own.

The air was thick and muggy when I came to, rich with a swampy green smell that was somewhat sweet. My eyelids were heavy with the warm moisture that clung to them. Unbidden, a small moan escaped my lips.

I opened my eyes to a violet, blue-streaked sky poking through a canopy of trees.

'Ah, you're awake'

I knew the voice as I knew my own. Mentally, I stumbled towards it; I was desperate for the assurance I was not alone in this spinning world.

'Where are you?' I muttered, attempting to sit up in my bed of moss. Bad idea, the black trees spun like swirled liquorice.

Again, the smell of leathers and smoke and vanilla filled my nostrils and my goblin king pressed me gently back onto the moss

'I'm here' he soothed.

'You've got to be more specific than that' I grumbled.

He sighed deeply. I felt the soft moss dip ever so slightly beneath me and the warm press of his skin against mine. His fine hair ticked against my cheek and I flinched away before I could laugh.

I focussed on the rise and fall of my chest and the squelch of his boots on the damp ground, waiting for him to speak.

'We're Elsewhere' he muttered. He said it as though Elsewhere was a place.

'We were thrown off course' he continued. 'The Labyrinth is unsettled, she believes you to be a threat...'

I was barely listening. For the first time since waking up, my vision was clear. Greyish grass, though whether grey naturally or from the lack of light I did not know, blanketed the ground around me. Roots cut through the grey, traversing everywhere but the tiny clearing he and I lay upon. I had never seen a place so strange, apart from of course, The Labyrinth, even the trees looked too gnarled to be real. Pastel flowers popped up between the roots and seemed to be lit from within, casting rays of lilac lights across the black-green of the forest floor.

'Quite startling, is it not?' I heard him purr.

I turned to see he was propped up against the base of a tree, his strange eyes were glued to my reaction. They softened when I pulled myself up to sit beside him, using his arm as leverage, and practically slammed my head down on his shoulder, desperate to close my eyes on something warm.

'Sorry' I muttered as an afterthought, deliriously nuzzling my cheek against the bones of his shoulder. He chuckled under his breath and blew a tendril of hair out of my eyes.

'It's fine' he said.

As I lay there, he began to hum strange tunes that seemed all at once familiar and alien. His humming was not human. Humans can hold one tune at a time, and a simple tune at that. Ask someone to hum a familiar nursery rhyme and it will sound to you disjointed, almost unpleasant in how it misses the distinctive notes. But he seemed to hold many notes, mate many together and even, on some occasions, keep multiple melodies running at once. It was to the sound of something that sounded vaguely like a slow, drawling sea shanty, that I fell into a soft almost-sleep.

'Sarah'

He jolted me gently and I awoke with a small start. I slowly met his gaze. His smile was venomous. I had fallen asleep on him. I knew he would have many a use for this mishap.

Reluctantly, I sat up and saw that he held a small, iridescent-looking glass.

'It should help with the nausea' he said softly, pressing it into my hands. 'If not, it will at least vanquish your thirst'

As I regarded it, a little of the crystal clear liquid threatened to drip down the side; he caught in on one finger and dropped it into his mouth in a motion so quick I wondered if I'd imagined it.

'Sip it, mind' He added, his tongue darted out to capture the last of it from his lips. 'The taste is very strong'

I brought it to my lips and took a small, testing sip. My eyes fluttered close with pleasure. I tasted shellfish and pears and the silk ribbons I would pop in my mouth as I tied my hair, freshly baked pie and sweat and saltines and the soap Karen used to make me bite each time I swore. Things that shouldn't taste good but so, so did.

'That's gorgeous' I moaned, trying to resist another sip. With a deep pang of regret, I handed it back to him

'Hmm. It is.' He murmured. 'It conjures up memories; though it hasn't a formal name- Lis'rein normally suffices... What did you taste?'

'...Summer' I whispered, linking each flavour to a moment of that blessed, bitter-sweet time. 'My first summer without my mother...the summer I learnt to bake cherry pie, the summer I got a role without lines in the school play and went home crying and swearing...'

I closed my eyes, feeling myself mentally cave in.

'Who did you play?' he whispered softly.

'I was a wall'

He cocked his head to one side, pursed his lips and began to laugh, a gorgeous, metallic musical thing that all but resonated. He tucked his chin to his chest as though to stifle it, his eyes fixed on me as the chuckles vibrated in his chest and upon his breath.

I realised, with a jolt that I was gaping.

The shame of it all had haunted me for years but the glint in his eyes seemed to extinguish the shame of having the cardboard taped onto me in the dressing room in front of all the other girls...of the relentless bullying that followed and continued. He looked free. He wasn't, he was chained to his life. But he could laugh like he roamed and danced and sang in a world without mazes and curses.

'It's not funny!' I protested.

Unfortunately, my vain attempt not to laugh came out as a snort and then, with a cry of surrender, I buried my head in my knees, letting the waves of laughter wash over me.

'Regale me with your performance' he purred.

I surfaced for air, stretched my arms out and attempted to keep a straight face.

His smile, previously warm and inviting, dropped and his eyes iced back over.

Embarrassment consumed me. I went to fold in again when I felt the slightest pressure on my outstretched arm.

Puzzled, I followed his stricken gaze.

A moth had landed on the stretched fabric of my too-big shirt, its papery wings fluttering in the breezeless air. It brushed gently against my sleeves, as though asking for access to my skin.

'Hello?' I asked it, half expecting it to answer.

I wracked my brain, trying to think of the breed of it. I had seen it before in some distance memory...in a book...a book...why did a book feel so relevant right now? I narrowed my eyes, pinning it in place. Oh, I knew it alright. Every inch of me lusted to feel its delicate wings beneath my fingers, to bring it to my lips and let my breath warm it. I shook with the desire, head to toe.

Beside me, the king threw out an arm, hitting the creature with an invisible force. The moth flew away in an instant and, in my desperation, I reached out to it. Before I could brush my finger across its downy back, the his fingers found my ribcage and guided me back against his chest, restraining but gentle. His leathered palms brushed down the goose bumps on my arms, smoothing them as his legs wrapped around mine, folding my knees against my chest. My breath caught in my throat. The world righted itself around me.

Distantly, I registered him bury his face in my hair. I remembered I had not washed it for three days and it probably reeked of canteens and the chalk and the cheap, yellow cheese Karen packed in my bag each morning.

'Don't' he muttered, his voice thick.

'Why not?' I demanded, angry he had torn me away from the creature.

He didn't respond at first, occupied he was with pressing small kisses to the hair at base of my neck. I relaxed back into his grasp, satisfied when it tightened.

'You would not find that moth in any garden of your world' he said. 'It breeds exclusively here, in this forest, for a few, brief, shining months of every hundredth year. For only in this forest is the line between the living and the dead so weak...'

'That doesn't answer my question' I responded, finding, to my surprise, a heartbeat within the warm, flat plain of his chest.

He laughed and more warmth surrounded me, curling around my ears and beneath my breasts. I suspected magic of course, but it was so pleasant I found myself unable to challenge him.

'They are Thilysane, wandering souls. They appear to you and I as moths for they long for their journey's end as a moth longs for a flame'

'Poetic' I murmured.

'They probably think so, too'

'Why do they wander?'

'They have all committed deeds in their lives, deeds so great, so noble, they are both unable to cease existence for fear of those deeds being forgotten to them, nor be punished as most souls are, for their sparks of goodness override every life they took or heart they broke. It is a cruel fate...one you would think they would be undeserving of'

'Life's not fair' I said with a small laugh, watching as several of them flitted in the light of the moon. For one moment, it looked as though their wings vanished, their bodies lengthened and small black hairs sprouted from their insect-heads. I blinked and the image was gone.

* * *

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favourited and followed.

I've almost finished the next chapter so it should be with you very shortly.

And again, if you liked, please review!


	6. Compromise

Labyrinth is not mine. It was made in 1986. I was born in 1995.

* * *

'That's wrong' I hissed. 'They shouldn't have to...'

'Do they know of their fate? It is hard to say. If they do, do they regret saving that child, do they regret loving so selflessly if such abandon only ended in dust?'

His speech had been delivered matter-of-factly, but there was an underlying note to his voice that turned my stomach.

'...That's what's going to happen to you, isn't it?' I whispered.

A pause. A low chuckle. 'Perceptive'

I turned in his arms, gripped his collar fast when he went to take my wrists. His frosty hair fell across his brow as he lowered his eyes to meet mine, a challenge in their depths.

'Why, Sarah. You wound me! You think I am incapable of good deeds...of sparing lives?' he teased.

I shook my head, my throat dry.

His voice lowered. 'Oh, Sarah'

My heart stopped in my chest as his fingers traced small circles on my lips. 'Soft breaths on the fingers that sought to steal them...' he mused.

'You were going to kill me' I stated.

I felt as though I was drowning, warm arms that I had previously felt so achingly safe in suddenly became silken chains.

'But you didn't' I said slowly.

He raised his eyebrows. 'As it would appear'.

'Would my death have wiped your slate clean of goodness?' I asked.

'Theoretically'.

'I don't know whether I should thank you for my life or despise you for wanting to take it'

'The latter was only of interest to me for the briefest time...mere seconds of your thirteen hours'. His tone was not reassuring.

'No use crying over spilt milk'

Because really, there wasn't. I'd made a bargain with a strange, king of myth and I may as well try to get on with him best I could. I couldn't work out if my trust of him was of his own design or just part of growing up and becoming desensitised to the death threats of immortals.

'Your Labyrinth brought meaning to my life, you know that, don't you?' I said abruptly, hardly knowing where I was going but powerless to stop. The thin line of his mouth only seemed to grow thinner. 'I lived years of my life, wishing for a fairy tale, wishing for mermaids and dark tortured kings and fairies and...' I paused, straining to hear the noises of the forest, straining to ground myself. 'I left... tried to convince myself I had let go of this world, let go of you...'

I paused, cocked my head. 'You're never going to let me go, are you?'

He placed a gloved finger upon the tip of my nose, his eyes half-lidded, almost lustrous in their scrutiny of my face.

'What would you have me say?' he asked, trailing it down my lips to rest on my chin. 'How do you interpret our game?'

'Uneasily' I choked out.

'Does it have an end, do you think?' His eyes flickered to mine. 'Is there a resolution, a compromise?'

'No' I answered. I was so certain it ached.

My mother was absent. My father, uncaring...but this man, this strange, frightening man of nightmares and perversion, this rockstar-arrogant-brooding thing held me captivated. I felt ridiculous, girlish. I hated him, I hated him and I adored him.

'Your dreams are puzzling to say the least. Why, I can't dissever your desire to triumph over me from your desire to...' he chuckled and I felt a blush creep across my cheeks. 'So I've crafted my world for your pleasure...'

He lay his hands upon my upper-arms, his touch was gentle, barely a whisper, but the suggestion extended through skin, fat tissue and dormant muscle to penetrate bone. I slammed my eyes shut as, quick as lightening, his lips met my forehead and rested there for a few, agonising moments. They were not warm as his gloved fingertips had been, nor cold as his breath against my ear as I surveyed my challenge (it doesn't look that far), their heat was a concoction that was entirely their own. It hit me then, as his hands slid to the small of my back, that this was our compromise. We were to feed off each other, bounce off each other. Never let the other win, never relent. Always maintain.

'It was what you wanted' he said. 'All this for all of time'

He withdrew and stood with a fluidity that was unnerving. I watched him go, still caught up in his touch, in the overwhelming veil he had just passed across me.

'Well?' he asked, rolling his hand.

With a grin, I grasped it mid motion and dragged myself to my feet.

* * *

I WILL UPDATE WITHIN TWO DAYS. LITERALLY OR YOU CAN HAVE MY LIFE I AM SORRY THIS WAS NOT MEANT TO HAPPEN. Basically, I got a new job and now I have to focus on not getting that wrong, whereas my old one was so mundane I could literally plot out entire fanfictions from my desk as opposed to filing.

THERE WILL BE VERY VERY EVIL JARETH SOON AS I TIRE OF FLUFFY JARETH.

Reviews are lovely. Thank you.


	7. Knock Thrice

This entire story will slip between first and third person- narration from Sarah and a strange third person thing from the Jar of Eth. There is a big reason for this, a HUGE reason for this.

I'm now unleashing darker things. I don't know if anything will fit quite into the M rating but if I find anything that makes me go: 'ehh', I'll be sure to employ that dreaded M for Mergh.

As always, Labyrinth isn't mine. And I can't even think of a witty explanation for this.

* * *

**Sarah's Room, the Night of the Deal**

He had never subscribed to the 'Enter only when Welcomed' rule his kind implemented. It was limiting, non-calculating, bore few results.

He stood, an oddity in a room of normalities and surveyed her belongings by the light of his bauble, twisting it this way and that as he did. He paid little attention to the photographs of her mother, only to acknowledge the darkness of her hair and crimson of her lips and instead consumed himself in the little trinkets Sarah saw fit to display on her vanity.

A single lipstick. Badly drawn mermaids. A new-looking tome of Norse Mythology. Perfumes in pretty glass bottles. All this amongst study books, tattered coats and sweet wrappers.

Her room smelt like her though she had attempted, it seemed, to fill it with an artificial rose-scent. The calming effect failed, it masked the scent of her light sweat and natural warmth in a way he found distasteful.

'You truly hate it, don't you?' he murmured. 'Your neck doesn't give off a fairy-like scent, cherry blossom is not an odour that comes naturally to you...you'd do anything to erase that skin smell...'

Outside the wind howled and moaned and his countenance turned from wonder to dark anger. She should be here by now. As it always was with them both, he had set a trap and she had evaded it, though in this case, he was relieved to conclude, it was timing, not her will.

Earlier, he had watched her linger at the gates to her school, watched her mentally fight something, wince and then go back in. His disappointment tangible even in owl form, he had cast a spell of protection over her and then returned to his realm to await the soft fall of her footsteps as she made for home. He couldn't help but begrudge the fact that, with this change of events, he wouldn't be able to press her against a wall and feel her indignant heat against him as she rounded the playing field. He hungered to see the surprise in her eyes as he appeared, not as a phantom owl through her brother's window, but as a man, determined, wanting her in a way that needed no pretence.

And then he stood straight, like a man shot, for he had heard the footfall he had been waiting for. She had chosen to run the last leg of her journey.

His smile was wicked as he detected the jangle of keys on the door. He heard her curse under her breath as she tried to find the right one, angrily bashing the set against the lock, thrilling him with this show of passionate impatience. He loved the foul language that slipped from her lips, unbidden, uncontrollable. He did not swear himself as it was a petty, human thing, but the idea that something so delicate as his Sarah could be so very vulgar...it was delicious

Her scent, adopted from the day's monotony, flooded his nostrils, the smell of paper and flowers and milk. Leisurely, soundlessly, he slipped from the warm character of her room into the cold, lifeless corridor. In the hallways, barely a footstep closer to her, he found her overwhelming; her characteristic swiftness even more audible.

'Karen!' she yelled, the lilt of her voice tampered with by the grip of the cold.

'Anyone!'

Oh, how he thirsted to answer her.

He heard her make for the stairs and, angered at his distraction, he rounded the corner, watching as she darted into her bedroom.

There was still something so graceless about her, so raw. He had noticed the way other human girls moved, the way they dressed to emphasise the flair of their hips and chests but she seemed to favour androgynous, baggy styles and a careless rush of limbs so disordered he found her maddening.

Her hair was still long, though now it had grown to curl enticingly under her breasts, and still dark in a way he could never fashion his own to be. Her skin was still fair and her eyes, he was relieved to note, were still as mischievous, still as knowing. He had taken her imagination, it seemed, but not her spirit.

He waited, his eyes closed, his mouth pulled into a sated smile as he listened to her movements from the safe, unsearched haven of her brother's room.

He had explored her through scent, through sound, but now he wanted her before him.

He opened the window, welcoming in the cold air, bidding it to draw her to him as it seeped out the door and into her room.

He detected the change in her mood almost instantly. There was a mere wall between them and he felt the swelling of her fear as tangibly as he did the icy wind upon his hollowed cheek.

He fancied he could feel the single strand of her hair through the cold glass of the crystal he clutched in his palm as, without magic, without a charm, he simply hid behind a bookcase, watching as his prey entered his hastily orchestrated trap. This time, he thought to himself, watching her lean her head against the cold glass, he would be much more...hands on.

* * *

He released my hand and I rubbed it slightly. His grip hadn't been bruising, or even painful as such, but I suspected he had exercised more of his strength in pulling me up than he had meant to.

He smiled an apology and I returned it awkwardly. I never really felt smiling was my forte. I guess it reminded me of the false smiles shared between my mother and I, this grin she would issue me as she walked out on yet another family afternoon...as though a flash of teeth could replace her presence in my life.

Are you admiring me?' he teased.

Subconsciously, I realised, I had been focussing on his neck with a predator's precision. He had _veins._

'You're very difficult not to admire, aesthetically, at least' I replied, a tad defensively. 'Though, your morality leaves something to be desired'

He shot me a strange look.

'What!' I spluttered, affected somehow by my inability to read him.

'Were you always so unguarded?' he murmured, suspicion in his tone.

'What do you mean?'

'You never used to speak so very openly'

I shrugged, kicked a stone into the roots of a nearby tree. 'I felt we needed to contrast somehow'

He seemed to consider this for a moment before rounding on me, taking me aback and leaving me to stumble into his immovable warmth. His eyes betrayed nothing. They seemed to see straight through me. Before I could chide or dart round him, he gathered me against his chest and I was shocked to feel the ground vanish beneath me in the way I had hated since childhood. I struggled but he held me fast and effortlessly, his grip nothing like my father's, his hard chest nothing like my father's pudgy stomach. My feet knocked against his knees and I found myself begging to be put down. My words seemed to be drowned by the wind that swarmed around us and, it was in that instant, that I realised we were transporting.

I cursed under my breath, beat a fist against his chest. I hated the sensation. There was nothing to it but emptiness and the feeling of displacement. I would prefer pain, I would prefer sickness, I would prefer...not this.

Darkness.

'Gob...' I began, uncertainty in my voice.

He set me down gently though his grip was unaffected. He hadn't spoken but the sentiment was clear. _I'm here._

The air was cold, dry, nothing like the warm wetness of the forest and I found myself unnerved beyond words. I sensed, somehow, we were in an enclosed space.

'What...'

'Shh'

I opened my mouth to challenge him and then, with a heavy stomach, I realised why I should, indeed, 'shh'

Above us, heavy footfalls punctuated the silence. We were underground. Something was above us. Something the king had thought it appropriate to hide from.

In front of me, his hand conjured a crystal that, after a few murmured words I could neither understand nor catch, filled with light.

He released me, his hands lingering on the curve of my waist before setting it on the ground before us with a satisfying clink.

It was almost as though he had illuminated the darkness purely so we could see the dust drop from the cave-at least that's what I assumed it to be-roof.

I looked around me. We were not in an oubliette, the cave was too naturally formed to be of his design, there were also no bondage-style chains, which from my memory, were more or less his 'I'm going to punish you' calling card.

From the corner of my eye I saw him wave about an arm, trying to catch my attention. I couldn't help my eye roll.

_What? _ I mouthed.

His eyes crinkled in the corners and he beckoned with one swift curl of his fingers. I lay my palm in his, frowning.

'You always did transport well' he observed.

I furrowed my brow, thinking back on my effortless movement between worlds. He was right, it never affected me the way he had promised.

'Are we seriously _below_ whatever it is that you fear so?' I asked. 'Isn't that a distinct disadvantage?'

'I do not _fear them' _he muttered, a hint of petulance in his otherwise purring voice. 'There's nothing to _fear'_

'Them?' I urged, excitement seeping into my voice despite myself.

'Still so eager' he whispered. 'To taste fantasy'

I sighed.

The footfalls returned, except this time, there was more of them. It sounded as though there was a stampede above our heads. I wondered if the ground would be able to take it.

'We're safe, right?' I urged, hating the 'damsel in distress' note in my voice. At least, I reasoned, noting the gap between us, I wasn't clinging to his shirt like something from the front cover of a terrible 70s romance novel.

'Oh, we're safe' he said, casually, picking up the lit bauble and perching it on his fingers.

'You are always safe with me, I promised you did I not?

There was something in his eyes that made me assent, made me nod. This seemed to please him somehow.

And then, as if my nod had given some strange permission, something above our heads knocked three times.

My eyes fled to the king's, and, for the first time, he seemed just as puzzled as I did.

He stepped out underneath the knocking sound and with the slightest flick of his wrist, the earth above his arm him crumbled and fell, missing him by mere inches. I shielded my eyes from the sudden intrusion of light only to rip my hand away at what I saw.

In my disorientation, I had clearly missed a struggle. Jareth held a man by his throat, pressing him against the rock-laden walls, his lips bared back in what I could only describe as a snarl.

Despite this, his captive seemed neither threatening nor particularly phased by the powerful fingers wrapped around his neck, instead he lifted a hand to wave in my general direction, his smile was so open I was taken aback.

The Man wore a cloak so long, I fancied it was terribly difficult to walk in, but that wasn't the strangest thing about it. The cloak was made of moths, thousands of them, stitched into the material, completely covering whatever colour it once was. His feet, white and innocent beneath this strange garment, were completely bare and pressed against Jareth's legs, searching for purchase. His hair was as long as he was, which, I noticed, wasn't very long, bone white and threaded with hundreds of beads and feathers.

'What are you doing here?' Jareth hissed.

The man opened his mouth to say something but clearly thought better of it. After a pause I imagined ordered him, he finally spoke. 'Put me down, old friend, and I may be more of help'.

Jareth obliged, albeit the 'putting down' was more like 'throwing down'.

The man landed in the dust, folded his legs beneath him and rocked slightly, his eyes fixed on me. He was probably about my height, maybe less and handsome in a way that was so pleasant my heart warmed to him almost instantly.

Jareth pulled me behind him and the man frowned, twisting his head as though to get a better look.

'Speak' Jareth said.

'Introduce!' the man prompted musically, leaping to his feet. 'Who is this lovely lady?'

Yep, definitely liked him.

'My name's Sarah' I offered with a smile I hope contrasted gorgeously with Jareth's scowl.

This seemed to delight him, for he swept into a low bow, his hair fanning the ground like a mermaids fin. 'My name is Erki'

'It's lovely to meet you' I said.

Jareth took a step forward and Erki's eyes visibly darkened, to the point they appeared black.

'I was just curious...' he began, his palms raised as if to ward off Jareth's anger.

'His name is Erkivel. He resides in these woods, guards the Thilysane moths and makes morbid cloaks out of them when he is taken by _pity_'

Jareth was not in the habit of making everything clear, so it took a few moments for me to associate Erki with the word 'saviour'. He killed the souls that lingered still in this world, granted them freedom...

'Were you making all that racket, Erki?' I asked with a laugh.

Erki swept his cloak around him and clicked his ridiculously long nails together. 'I had to get you both into the Earth somehow, your loved up display was causing disorder amongst my moths'

Which begged the question, of course, what _had _Jareth feared was above us?


	8. A Slip in Time

**_LET'S GET READY TO RUMMMMBLLLLEE_**

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth._**

**_I'm sorry this took so long. Life is weird. I somehow managed to uproot myself from humanity within the space of ten days. Oh, and t_****__****_hank you for the follows! They let me know what I'm doing is appreciated! (A few more reviews wouldn't hurt, though!) ;)_**

* * *

When Erki was met with silence, he rose a finger. 'Let's get going!'

Quick as a thought, I found myself out of the hole, once again in the confusing tangle of roots and swampiness, witness to the stare off between my goblin king and the short man I couldn't help but dub Moth Man.

'It's not far' Moth Man said, trying to break Jareth's steely gaze.

Jareth merely nodded and indicated that Erki should lead. I couldn't help my chuckle. Jareth did not like not knowing.

'What's your issue with Moth Man?' I whispered as the gentleman in question all but vaulted through the undergrowth.

Jareth's eyes narrowed and he remained staring ahead.

'Well, what?' I prompted. 'He seems...nice'

Scatter-brained and utterly helpless, too, it would seem. Moth Man was either vastly intelligent, so much so it robbed him of all tact, or ignorant and stupid and nice. Which seemed like a nice cluster of three in comparison to brooding, cruel and temperamental.

The man ahead of us moved fluidly across the roots, barely considering them whilst Jareth and I struggled over them. A testament to my clumsiness, Jareth being unused to terrain he cannot strut upon and Erki's comfort on the strange land.

'Can't we just transport?' I whispered to Jareth.

'I cannot take Erki without his consent' Jareth replied, throwing out a hand melodramatically, as if this should have been obvious to me. 'Besides, I think he is rather enjoying playing host'

He slipped his fingers through mine, so easily I jumped.

'Ah, so it's okay to take me without my consent?'

I couldn't help my flush of warmth. His actions earlier may have been cloyingly possessive, but his hand in mine was comforting. He had a way with touch, I thought so even all those years before, when we had danced together. It was a gentle grip, I probably could have slipped out of it, but there was an underlying suggestion, in the slow trace of his thumb across my knuckles, that it could tighten into an inescapable vice, if I were to attempt to be free of it.

I looked up from our entwined fingers to meet his eyes, which crinkled with his slow, suggestive smile.

Perhaps my thoughts were plain across my face?

Probably. He had said himself, I was no longer guarded.

The strangest sensation crawled around my ear.

_Sweet Sarah, pray tell- what were you thinking? Just then, when your cheeks reddened?_

It was his voice...in my head

I gasped and squeezed my eyes shut. The motion, unexpectedly, sent out my thoughts out in answer.

_DON'T DO THAT, JARETH!_

_Tell me your secrets and I'll stop._

I glanced up at him. He betrayed nothing, even shot Erki a look of utter revulsion when the white-haired man informed us we were 'nearly there'

_Come now, Sarah. I'm not a mind-reader._

I whirled to face him, pressing my hands against his chest, belatedly feeling his hot skin beneath the fabric...not missing his villainous smile.

_Get out. Of my head. _I warned him.

He lay his palms across mine, keeping them there when I would have torn them away, leant in and touched his sharp nose to mine

_Funny. I used to ask the same of you._

My lips parted of their own accord. I figured there was a reason people kissed with their eyes shut. Up this close, I felt as though I could eat his soul. Then, in slow, delicate motions he lowered his mouth to mine. He didn't breathe, he didn't move, only grazed his lips against mine in a way that teased a thousand deadly, beautiful things.

'Enough' I whispered, pointedly drawing away. It wasn't that I didn't desire him, more the fact that I had no idea what a kiss from a goblin king would entail. He was, after all, a villain, and though I doubted turning me into a frog was exactly his style, his lips looked venomous and there was no way I was taking any chances. Yet.

Before I could turn from him, I found myself yanked back with a swiftness that made me gasp. But still, that infuriating non-pressure. His fingers snaked around my waist, softly tapping against my hip bones as, rocking his body against mine, he delivered a brief, searing kiss. I flailed, unsure whether or not the heat was his, mine, magic or natural. The insistence of the gesture, however, was signature his.

'We've company' I muttered when he swiftly drew back to appraise my no-doubt flushed complexion.

'Yes' he agreed. 'Erkivel has saved you this time' A pause. Laughter.

The man in question stood, hands on his hips, his expression icy. Jareth stepped away from me, laughing at his friend.

'Why, Erkivel, you are more innocent than she' he purred.

'My home' Erkivel said, irritation thick in his voice as he gestured to a tiny cottage, fringed by huge, draping trees.

Jareth's amusement was tangible, his low whistle startling. 'You've downgraded'.

Erki waved away the observation tiredly and opened the door with a swift tug, leaving it open as he strolled into the dark hallway.

It was truly a lovely little cottage, almost fairytale like in its quaint charm. The pinkish hue of the bricks was garishly charming against the blood red of the roses and, whereas the grass surrounding the cottage was dim, the segments aligning the simple, white gravel pathway were almost blindingly green. I instantly liked it.

I went to follow, but Jareth held me back.

'Goblin king...' I muttered.

He looked down at me, his sharp face almost gentle in the sudden bright, summery light. 'Jareth' he said gently.

I frowned.

'You think my name, why not say it?'

'You've been rooting through my head?' I accused.

'No' he admitted. 'I can't do that. No, You projected my name at me...it was angry, heated...satisfying. But I hunger for it from your lips'

'Jareth' I said, uncertainly.

I still had no idea why saying his name made me flinch, but it did so in a way that was almost primal. I feared saying his name in the same irrational way I feared walking into my bedroom with the lights off. It was uncertainty. Somewhere, deep within, rooted into my very being, was a fear of pronouncing the name of the man I was chained to.

'Are you two coming, or mocking my humble abode?' Erki's musical voice cut through me like a knife. I tore my gaze from the intense search of Jareth's features.

'So...why did you stop me?' I asked, folding my arms.

He glanced around for a moment and then shook his head slightly, as though dispelling a thought. 'You have a nasty, delicious habit of running into danger arms open'

I laughed, took a step forward and then, as I was unchallenged by the man whose body brushed reassuringly beside me, I crossed the white gravel path and walked through the door.

The corridor was completely dark and I was thankful when Jareth pulled me back against his chest.

'In here!' a lilting voice I recognised as Erki's rang out, cutting through the darkness as a door opened and light flooded into the corridor.

As Jareth and I stood, uncertain, several moths fled the light of room.

They flitted about everywhere, their wings beat from every crevice of the tiny home, within cracks in the bricks, atop books and tables and, to my surprise, the rims of the steaming hot cups that had been laid out on a quaint thatch table cloth. The room was tiny, barely the size of mine, yet it was so packed with books and, bizarrely, paper models of castles, that it was difficult to pinpoint furniture and normalities. Erki moved as though we were not there, uncaring when the moths burrowed into his long hair or rested upon his jutting shoulders. He moved about with franticness, adjusting small statues and inching strange artefacts to one side, as though Jareth and I formed a home critiquing committee and he was desperate to appease. The room smelt strongly of peppermint.

'Tea?' Erki urged.

I frowned. Last time I had been offered tea in a fantasy realm, it had been from the mouth of a blue-haired worm. In fact, it was the last time I had been offered tea fullstop. Karen and my father were coffee drinkers and I hardly traipsed around the splatter of tea shops in my town.

I picked up the cup and turned it in my grasp, marvelling at the small cracks on the ceramic. To my utter shock, it vanished from my grasp. Forgetting I was in a magical realm, I let out a small squeak, only to see it where I had left it, the surface of the liquid undisturbed. Jareth.

'Are you done?' Jareth drawled to the frantic man before him.

'Yes. Just about' Erki replied, brushing down a set of red candles with his hand.

'Please sit' Erki urged and then, his face dropping, he indicated to the unmoved tea cup. 'Is...the tea not to your liking?'

'Well, actually...' I began.

'Enough with the pleasantries. Will you allow us to stay here or not?' Jareth snapped.

Ah, my Goblin King. Always diplomatic.

Erki's face dropped, uncertainty clouded his brown eyes. 'Why, of course...I didn't plan to serve you up to...to...them. I just wanted...'

'Just wanted what?' Jareth said spitefully. 'Dinner guests?'

From the corner of my eye, I spotted something, a sliver of paper tucked under a book on one of the low tables. It looked strategically placed. As though it was ready to be plucked...by me.

I shook my head and turned back to Jareth and Erki who now seemed to be engaged in some sort of stare-off. Fantasy characters and their issues.

I turned back in the direction of the paper, only to find it had moved closer and was now tucked under my tea cup. Okay, definitely significant.

I shook my head at it. There was no way I'd be able to pluck it without Jareth and Erki noticing.

As though annoyed at my refusal, the paper leapt up in a blur and unrolled itself before my eyes. I squinted at the narrow script.

_'Do not trust him. He has you by the neck, or should I say...hair._

I scoffed. These things were always so vague. Then I focussed on the 'small print' as it were, dwarfed by the scruffy scrawl above it. _By him, I meant Jareth_. _Sorry. Should have clarified_._ Also...try the tea. Jareth is fond of sweets, for me, bland flavours concoct the most vivid of dreams...I have answers. By now, to you, it's a cliché: but not everything is as it seems._

My stomach dropped. From the corner of my eye I watched the two men argue, but that was hardly what bothered me. When you're in deep adoration with a goblin king, you find yourself desperate for 'answers'. I lay a shaking hand to my chest, bent down and snatched up the tea cup.

Before Jareth could stop me, I downed the liquid, slamming down the cup in triumph. My eyes met Erki's, caught the flush of pleasure in them, as Jareth all but hoisted me off the ground, depositing me on a chaise.

I stared at him, really looked, took in the hard lines of his face, the panic in his eyes. 'It's okay' I whispered.

Was it? I didn't truly know. But this Erkivel had _answers_. And if Jareth wasn't going to provide them, well, I could hardly be blamed for my actions. Answers were trade in this realm, if you had them, it seemed, you could manipulate however you so chose.

'Predict-able' Jareth said, clucking his tongue. At first I thought he was addressing me and, in my delirious state, meant to ask him what exactly he found about me eating or drinking something and then falling into stupor predictable. But then I noticed it, the sly side eye and slow, predator's grin. The goblin king before me was slowly morphing into the villain.

'Really, you thought my weakness for her the perfect leverage, not a difficult conclusion to grasp, granted, but an informed one and yet failed to take into account I am...hmm...the goblin king'

'I mean no harm' Erki's ringing voice was devastating. Every note of it pleaded, reassured.

'I think, little prince, you meant every harm in the world'

'I just...I needed you to stop them' Erki yelled. 'You know I can't, myself...I...'

Jareth stepped forth, flexed his fingers before him. In the small room, the crack was Earth-shattering. 'You know' he said, venom practically dripping from his voice. 'When we last met, I was less tuned, less refined to my purpose...powerful, yes, but what is power without _focus?'_

Erkivel's eyes widened, he stepped back, scattering a deck of playing cards around his bare feet. They had not been there before. He screamed in pain and, craning my neck, my stomach sunk at why. Blood spilled onto the cards from the depth of Erki's cloak, too much to be of any natural wound. I heard the snap of bone, the wet squelch of tearing flesh. The man stumbled but was righted by Jareth, who thrust him roughly against a bookcase. The crack of his body and the splinter of the wood turned my stomach.

'Of course' Jareth mused, tapping his fingers against Erki's neck in a horrifying rhythm that caused Erki's frantic breaths to turn gasped, and his pleas, incomprehensible. 'Raw power is pure, uncontrollable, but pure. But when you harness it...when you harness it, my lying, cheating friend...well, the cards fall into place'

'Jareth...please'

'Tell your_ king...'_ Jareth hissed, he paused, rolled his head to meet my eyes, his gaze sickeningly gentle.

'Jareth...please' Erki gasped, his blood stained hands knotting in Jareth's hair. 'I wasn't going to touch her...'

Bile rose in my throat and I tried to scramble off the chaise, to do something, anything, though no words rose. I fell, scattering the contents of a basket full of feathers. I watched, horrified as the bright plumes swallowed up blood.

'You're lucky, Erkivel' Jareth hissed. 'If Sarah were not here...we would be having a lot more fun'

A simple flick of his wrist and Erkivel's neck snapped, so loudly that my teeth grated in my skull.

I rolled onto my back, wheezing, frightened of the room's spin. I heard Jareth's footsteps and curled up, my sobs, though I hardly understood why I was sobbing, ripping through the silence.

'Shh' I heard him soothe. He ran a hand down the length of my body. 'It's time for us to go'.

I attempted to crawl away but was met with a pair of black boots. Their owner lifted me, as though I was weightless. I stumbled into him and he accepted me readily, muttering soothing words I did not recognise against my hair.

'You...kill...' I tried.

'But you knew that' he whispered, his nose trailing a path down my jawline, his fingers purchasing the skin across my ribs.

'I did?' I choked out, pulling back to cradle his terrible face in my hands. 'Why am I here?'

He was silent for a long moment. 'You don't know?'

* * *

I caught the drapes around the throne with my toes, swirling them deliriously, only vaguely registering my change in location. The throne room was empty, just as I had seen it the eve I rescued my bouncing baby brother. I lounged out, letting the velvety material I was swamped in fall to the ground, restless, agitated, desperate for something I could not name. Was it him?

I became aware of him all at once, my goblin king. I was not alone.

I watched him from the corner of my eye. He sat upon the window ledge, one leg slung out, surveying.

'Hey' I said, hungering for his reassurance, for warm leather to still my spinning head.

He did not turn, not even when I repeated myself, more desperately this time. It was as though he could not bear to look at me.

The sun was setting over my childhood fantasy, the Labyrinth was growing dark and frightening before me.

'It seems you're due a dream, my love' he said, a touch of bitterness in his otherwise purring voice.

'Excu...me?' I choked out.

'Well, you are currently falling asleep, are you not?'

I furrowed my brow. Why did sleep seem so important right now? My knees chafed uncomfortably against the throne's leg as I fought to stand.

'You owe a dream debt' he said. 'The universe is hungry to take its payment and I, my Sarah, am more than happy to ferry you to it'


End file.
